


masterdick

by Duckyboos



Series: Profound Meetings [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Chef Castiel (Supernatural), Chefs, Enemies to Lovers, Inspired by Masterchef (TV), M/M, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: “You haven’t even seasoned this one!” The skillet clatters to the stainless steel worktop. “Is it pure ineptitude or are you actively trying to destroy my reputation?”Dean tilts his head toward the cameras, because even though it’ll be heavily edited, there’s no way they’ll leave out Novak’s temper tantrums, “I think you’re doing that just fine on your own, Chef.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound Meetings [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820488
Comments: 59
Kudos: 242





	masterdick

Never meet your heroes. Someone wise probably said that, right?

Wiser than Dean obviously, because he was actually _excited_ to meet his. 

It’s unfortunate, then, that his biggest culinary inspiration (and all-around hottest guy on the planet) is also a massive douchebag. 

Now normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. You meet your hero, you’re disappointed, you part ways never to see each other again. You cry into your pillow a bit for all the jerk off sessions you’ll have to forgo and you move the fuck on. 

Except that’s a little difficult to do when you end up meeting the loathe of your life on TV and in a roasting hot professional kitchen. 

(Though Dean’s pretty close to tears right now).

“No!” Chef Novak reprimands, snatching the skillet out of Dean’s hand, “What _are_ you doing?”

Dean’s cooking the fish as instructed. Which is what he tells the Chef.

“ _As instructed?_ I don’t remember telling you to drown it in butter!”

“Can a fish actually drown though?” Dean muses as the ignorant dick barges him out of the way to throw the whole lot in the trash, “Especially a dead one? Seems a bit redundant.”

Chef Novak is staring him down with those distracting, horrible blue eyes and Dean inwardly winces. His family and friends are gonna be watching this shitshow, he should at least try, but this guy is just an _ass_.

The Chef slams the skillet back onto the hob.

“Do it again,” He growls, “But maybe this time, don’t fuck it up.”

“Cut!” Comes a voice somewhere behind Dean, “Chef Novak, you can’t swear.”

“You try dealing with this,” the Chef mutters to the crew member, “See if all you do is swear.” And with that, he’s shouldering past the poor boom operator to go and terrify another one of Dean’s ‘teammates’.

Goddammit.

  
  


***

Both of his competitors/teammates for this challenge - a southern bear named Benny and a perky, no-nonsense blond named Jo - manage to win Chef Novak over, producing decent iterations of his restaurant’s signature dishes. 

But Dean? Nah, no such luck.

As the service progresses, the camera crew exchange glances.

“You haven’t even seasoned this one!” The skillet clatters to the stainless steel worktop. “Is it pure ineptitude or are you actively trying to destroy my reputation?”

Dean tilts his head toward the cameras, because even though it’ll be heavily edited, there’s no way they’ll leave out Novak’s temper tantrums, “I think you’re doing that just fine on your own, Chef.”

Chef Novak seems to remember the cameras then, but doesn’t look directly at them in case he turns to stone or some shit. His voice is quieter and more hoarse when he says, “Do it again. But _please_ for the sake of my sanity, get it right.”

Dean doesn’t care much for the Chef’s sanity, but he does his own, so he focuses really hard on not fucking up this next one.

Benny skirts by him with a leg of lamb covered in coconut and mustard sauce, “I thought that last one was fine, brother.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, spooning a small amount of butter onto the fucking fish, “Me too.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Really?” Chef Novak asks but it’s not a question. “It’s supposed to be a neat drizzle. Instead, you’ve got aioli all over the place.”

Wiping the sweat off his brow, Dean can’t resist, “No, Chef, I think it’s cod.”

The Chef throws his arms up in frustration and stalks off, leaving Dean to grin to himself and revel in his petty, pun-based victory.

  
  


***

“Adequate,” Chef Novak declares when Dean dumps a finished fish dish on the pass.

“Oh, high praise indeed,” Dean smarts, “Don’t go being too nice, you might strain something.” He turns on his heel and trudges back to his little work station, begins buttering up the next one.

  
  


***

“You just need to bone,” Jo stage whispers to Dean just at the wrong fucking moment, precisely as Chef Novak is pushing past. 

He stops dead, right there in the narrowest part of the kitchen, glares at the two of them. “Err, you know, de-bone the fish?” Jo tries, but Dean can tell by the clench of the Chef’s not at all rugged jaw, that he’s not buying it.

He slides Dean’s latest plate of fish onto the counter, “This one is undercooked. Do it again.”

  
  


***

Seriously. Dean cannot be this awful. He cooks for his family all the time. Either they’re lying liars who lie or Chef Novak is a prick of epic proportions.

Dean’s leaning toward the latter.

“Why the _fuck_ would you use a palette knife instead of a spatula? Why are you even here - is it just a joke to you?” 

“ _Cut!_ ”

“Because I was trying not to break this one, you fucking asshole!”

Dean’s just thankful that the thing is blunt, because otherwise he’d be getting hauled away for murder right now. 

“Woah,” Benny interjects, getting between the two of them like a bouncer, carefully extricating the palette knife from Dean’s grip, “I think you two need a time out.” 

Dean rips his apron off over his head, throws it at Chef Novak, who - fuck this guy and his goddamn reflexes - catches it. 

“Fuck you,” Dean says and means it wholeheartedly. And then he’s stalking off to hide somewhere because there’s absolutely no way that after that performance he isn’t going to get kicked off the show.

  
  


***

He’s metaphorically and literally cooling off in the walk-in fridge, when the door groans open and in strolls fuckface.

“Dean--” Chef Novak starts, but Dean doesn’t give him the opportunity to finish, just grabs him by his chef’s whites and drags him in for a messy, terrible kiss.

Chef Novak makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but thankfully gets with the program, backing Dean up against the shelves, hard press of his body against Dean’s, and a couple of containers clatter to the floor. Fists clenched in Dean’s shirt, Chef Novak kisses like he cooks; passionate and giving no quarter, tongue relentlessly chasing Dean’s, hands grasping and clutching. They stand there, hips flush, bodies fitting together, lips dragging wetly between teasing scrapes of teeth and presses of tongue, the two of them enjoying the slow burn of making out, indifferent to the fact that there’s a camera crew just outside the door. 

Eventually though, they need to come up for air, so Chef Novak wrenches himself away, eyes dark and mouth kiss-swollen. He smiles at Dean and it’s annoyingly attractive, “Well, I definitely think you should do that again.”


End file.
